


Cinq Amours

by Musyc



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: 5 Things, Draco Malfoy - character, F/M, Hermione Granger - character, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-31
Updated: 2012-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-17 11:24:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/551021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musyc/pseuds/Musyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Draco fell in love, in five parts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cinq Amours

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Hawthorn and Vine Reverse challenge, based off/inspired by Annoying by [ponekad](http://dramione.org/viewuser.php?uid=557).

He'd known there were a million reasons he should never have looked at her even once, known there were a thousand reasons he should never have looked at her again. He was Draco Malfoy. She was Hermione Granger. It was ludicrous, ridiculous. It was madness even to consider it. He'd tried not to think about it. Tried to keep her out of his mind, because there were a hundred reasons he never should have fallen in love with her.

Draco turned from the window and watched his wife sleeping, their daughter curled up beside her. Their clever daughter with messy dark curls and pale grey eyes. Draco smiled. Dozens of reasons should never have led to this, but as he watched his family with a heart full of happiness, he remembered the reasons that had.

It started with her eyes. He walked into the Wizengamot's archives and there she was, staring at him. Her gaze was hard, stabbing, keeping him in place as firmly as any pin ever held a butterfly in a frame under glass. She stared at him; she glared at him. She didn't speak, didn't move, only stared, and for the first time since he was a teenager, he felt a hot blush moving across his cheeks and down the back of his neck.

Her eyes didn't stay hard and sharp for long. He didn't remember exactly when it happened, couldn't recall precisely when things changed, but at some point, at some time, when he looked at her, Hermione's eyes were different. She looked at him, and his world changed. He couldn't look away from her eyes, fringed with long lashes, dark as coal on the pale slopes of her cheeks when she blinked. One blink, just one, and it drew him in as if it had been an invitation. An invitation on creamy, thick parchment, written in a curling script and pressed into his hand in silence.

An invitation he couldn't refuse. Wouldn't have refused for every Galleon in his vaults.

They spent the first night looking. Only looking. Just looking. That was enough. That was what they needed right then, that moment. They sat, knees to knees, hand in hand, and looked at each other.

Her eyes softened, her gaze wrapped him in velvet. The deep cocoa shade of her irises made him feel warm. Hot. She glanced at him, a sidelong glance. A come-hither glance. Draco hithered before he even knew it. He slipped into her eyes and drowned in them.

Next was her lips. An arched bow to the upper, a plump curve on the lower. She kept them painted red, but it was never garish. They were crimson, scarlet, vermillion, carmine. They were the red of rubies in moonlight. Their first kiss stained his mouth, left him permanently marked. Claimed with the prints of her lips.

He kissed her, and his heart flew like a Snitch, fluttering and mad and impossible to stop. Impossible except for one person, the right person. She caught him with her mouth, caught him on her shining red lips. Draco scraped his teeth across her lower lip and she moaned for him. Hermione dragged her mouth down his throat and he groaned for her.

She explored him with lips and teeth and tongue, finding each spot on his throat that made him writhe. Stained his skin with red. The scarlet prints of her mouth, the vermillion bruises of her teeth, the carmine flush of need. She kissed him and kissed him and he kissed her, their lips fitting together with a force as inexorable as the pull of the moon on the tides.

When he went home and looked in the mirror, he smiled. Crimson marked his neck and his collar and -- he touched his lower lip with one finger -- his swollen mouth. He felt her kiss for weeks afterwards, and each time the shadow press of her mouth started to fade, she gave him a languid, sultry look, then renewed her claim.

Next was her hair. Her long and rampant waves, a wild and carefree mass of curls. Beneath a weeping willow on the bank of a clear stream no one had bothered to name, her hair flowed like the water. He'd tugged on one curl at work when he asked her to join him under that tree, wrapped the curl around his fingers and pulled her close. Her eyes sharpened, then softened; her ruby lips pressed tight before her pink tongue polished them.

Under the swaying branches of the tree, Draco tucked his arms under his head and looked up as Hermione leaned over him. Her long hair brushed his shoulders and caressed his cheeks. She bent and kissed him, as light as the breeze. Draco purred and reached for her, pulled her down to lay atop him. Her hair surrounded him. It enclosed him in warmth and the scent of gardenias.

He slid his fingers through her curls and stroked the length of her spine. Hermione hummed and licked his lip, deepening the kiss as she wriggled on him. Draco fought back a groan, then Hermione lifted her head and her hips moved against his, and he groaned aloud. His fingers locked in her hair, tugging gently. Hermione moaned, and the sound rushed through him like fire. He rolled to put her under him. Hermione's lips curled in a smile, her eyes shone, and her hair spread around her like a crown.

Next was her skin. Creamy, pale. Translucent on the insides of her wrists and behind her knees, at the base of her throat and just beneath her ears. It was months before he found out that it was thin and delicate across her breasts as well, with the lightest, laciest tracing of blue veins showing through the faint blush of arousal. She licked her lips and held her breath while he looked, took a shuddering breath when he circled one with a long, trembling finger. Hermione stroked his fringe away from his forehead and cradled the back of his neck when he moved, body stretched out beside hers, head bowed over her chest. He stroked her like she was a flower he would crush if he pressed too hard, his fingers moved on her skin like sunrise moved across the sky.

He brushed the soft skin of her abdomen, circling her navel and tracing her hips. Draco explored the hollows and curves of her body. He explored the shadows of her and found the places that made her arch into his touch. He looked up to meet her eyes with a question in his. He saw the answer he hoped to find in the dark pools behind her lashes, and he bent to press his lips to the sweep of her ribs. He kissed her, every inch from throat to hip, down the length of her arms from the knob of her shoulders to the tip of each finger, up the measure of her legs from each slender ankle to the heat of her thighs.

Hermione stretched, draping her hair across the pillows, and her knees edged apart. She cupped her breasts, lifting them to him in silent invitation. Draco settled between her thighs and caught one nipple in his lips. His tongue rolled across it, circled around it. She quivered beneath him, her knees coming up around his hips. The pounding beat of his heart was all he could hear for a minute, then he realized that her scarlet lips were shaping the syllables of his name. She tugged at his hair and pulled him up for a kiss, her tongue sliding into his mouth, her teeth nipping at his lip. Her skin was hot against his chest, her lips were soft under his mouth. She pushed him over, onto his back, and straddled him. She arched her back and the ends of her hair danced on his thighs and heat filled her eyes as she looked at him.

Draco pulled her down and kissed her, kissed her, kissed her, until neither of them could breathe. She lay with her head on his shoulder, her legs twined in his, and their pulses slowed into matching rhythm as they drifted asleep.

Last was her heart. It guided her every action, drove her every response. When she looked at him with her cocoa-colored eyes, her dark lashes fluttering, it was her heart that saw him. When she touched her mouth to his neck, her crimson lips pressing marks into his throat, it was her heart that caressed him. When her hair draped around his body, tickling down his chest and stomach, it was her heart that surrounded him. When her skin flushed in pleasure, turning red and hot as she clutched at him, it was her heart that warmed him.

Her heart was like a bird, free and dancing in the sky. It couldn't be caught, couldn't be trapped, but it could sing and it could soar. It couldn't be captured, but it could be given. She gave it to him. She gave it to him in every glance and every kiss, in the sweep of her hair and the scent of her perfumed skin. He refused to cage it, but let it free to fly.

She flew into his arms.


End file.
